Bend A Little
by oleanderedits
Summary: Soulmates take a little time to 'wake up' to each other, but once they do it's a fight to keep them apart. As Rick will readily attest to. (2nd Person PoV as Daryl)


Soulmates are funny things. Once you meet them sparks are supposed to fly. At least, that's what all the movies and novels written about them say happens. In reality, soulmates take a while to 'wake up' to. You meet them in passing maybe and for the next few hours you have this niggling feeling in the back of your mind that you really need to be somewhere and can't figure out where that somewhere is supposed to be. Or maybe you start feeling like you left something important behind on your walk to wherever you were going and it gets to the point of panic and you have to retrace your steps until you see their face again and your heart goes 'oh. there it is. that's my missing piece.'

Sometime you run into them when they're stealing the keys to your truck from your best friend before tricking you with a bunch of firecrackers and then stealing your truck. And sometimes you spend the day chasing down that truck, wanting revenge, holding your gun to their face and helping tie them up to leave them on the side of the road, satisfied when you get to kick your feet up and yell 'So long, prick!' as you and your brother drive away. And sometimes you realize they somehow ended up on top of your truck and Rick breaks hard to knock them down and you jump out to start chasing them. And even sometimes you end up chasing them right back inside the truck while Rick deals with some walkers and you're tussling with the asshole, trying to yank him out bodily when your heart goes 'oh. there it is. that's my missing piece.'

And when Rick finally gets all the walkers taken care of and comes over to see how you're doing with the little shit cheeky enough to pull all that crap, he finds the two of you making out like teenagers who're too hormonal for their own good. You don't even notice he's there and staring because your tongue is so far down Paul's throat and his hands are roaming over you in ways you forgot could feel so damn good you start to understand why he calls himself Jesus. You're certainly ready to start whispering it like a prayer to the heavens as his fingers find their way to your belt and begin to push.

Rick's attempts to clear his throat go unnoticed but his hand slamming against the side of the truck with a loud bang startles you both out of it and the two of you are climbing out, ready to take on the walkers making the noise. But it's just Rick. His hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised high, head tilted. Looking at you and asking for an explanation without saying a word.

You don't really know what to say. It isn't like soulmates show up every day and hell, you didn't think you actually had one before this moment. All you can do is stand there feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. Jesus lives up to his name and saves you the trouble of trying to explain by taking your hand in his and entwining your fingers.

He smiles shyly at Rick, embarrassed more than ashamed, blushing slightly, looking just the right shade of apologetic, "We should have that talk. Back at your place?"

You make sure the grip you have on his hand is firm and your shoulders are squared, head high. You don't know shit about him. He could be the worst person in the world. It didn't really matter. He was yours. You were his. If Rick tried to fight it, you'd be every bit as pig-headed as Merle taught you to be growing up. Make life hell for him until he accepted it.

Fortunately for all three of you, Rick recognized that it was a fight he'd lose. He didn't really understand the sudden change. Neither of you had said the magic word about it, but he knew that stance of yours. He knew what it meant and this wasn't the time to try and push back against it.

He nodded and waved one hand toward the truck, "Should do that now, I'm thinking."

"Sounds good," Jesus answered for the both of you and turned to climb right back in the truck. You follow along, breaking the hand hold only to make the climbing easier. Once you're in and Rick's in the driver's seat, it's a tight squeeze. You aren't complaining about how tight on the one side, but Rick has to shift gears and he's going to have trouble. The cab just wasn't made for three to be comfortable.

You don't even think about it when you grunt at Jesus to stand up and let you slide in to the passenger seat, between his legs. He sits down again, straddling you and it takes a bit of jostling, but you manage to slide your ass down a bit so you can get your legs up on the console again and his body ends up pressing into yours. It's only a matter of time before your lips find his again and your hands are moving under his jacket to try and find a way under his vest and shirt. It's a difficult thing, finding skin to rub your fingers and palms against. He's dressed far more carefully than you ever have. The annoyance you had for him when you were chasing the truck returns.

He chuckles into your mouth and you realize you'd vocalized that annoyance. He pulls back from you, so he can look into your eyes and cup your face with one hand. The other is suddenly removed from where it'd been sliding up your thigh and wiggling hard to get between the seat and your ass. It's placed very firmly on your arm and the two of you are looking in unison towards Rick, who had done the moving.

Rick looks both scandalized and frustrated. Like he can't believe he has to play chaperone to his best friend. He can tell you're both looking at him and tosses the pair of you a quick glare, "Hands above the waist while I'm driving." He'd never used the 'dad voice' on you before, but you can recognize it easily enough.

Problem with the order is that your hands are under Jesus' jacket and he can't see them. So you school your face to look as innocent as possible while you slide them down Paul's back to the curve of his ass. But before you can give a firm squeeze, Rick is reaching over, grabbing your hand - leather jacket with it - and moving it up to Jesus's mid-back.

He doesn't even stop the car. And you know he hasn't done this with Carl because there's been no one for Carl to make out with in a truck while Rick drives and you have to wonder where he even learned to do it in the first place. Had he been training all his life? Was it something that came automatically with being a father? And why the hell did it matter if you were doing it anyway?

Your glare is asking all these things and Rick lifts a finger to wave it at you, "Don't even start on me, Daryl. I'm already putting up with the two of you acting like I ain't even here. The least ya'll can do is not distract me by trying to undress each other while I'm getting us home."

"That's fair," Jesus answers, chuckling and making an effort to pull back from you and all you can think is 'bullshit' because it ain't fair at all. Not with how much you want to bury your hands in his hair and explore every inch of him, learn his body and everything about him as well as you know your own. But he's respecting Rick's request and leaning back. His hands remain on your shoulders and arms, brushing up and down them lightly as if to soothe you.

He takes another minute to watch Rick and the road, twisting his body around to see behind him and out the windshield, then asks, "So where is home?"

"Alexandria," you answer, tone gruff and you can feel yourself pouting a little (a lot) because of the interruption. You try to push past it though, and settle your own hands on Paul's waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles into that stupid vest you'd rip off if you could. "Safe Zone set up at the start of all this that was meant to be a first stage evac point. We got walls and homes. Solar power. Running water. It's real nice."

Paul had turned to look at you while you talked and you knew Rick was probably annoyed with how much you'd just said, but it wasn't like this was some stranger. This was Paul Rovia. He's yours.

"Sounds nice," he said sincerely, eye meeting yours and causing both your breaths to hitch for a moment. "We call ours The Hilltop. It's this old Living History place called Barrington House that we moved a lot of FEMA trailers to and built walls around. We're not doing to well on certain supplies so that's why I was trying to take your truck."

"Yeah, we're hurtin', too."

"We do trade with other communities to try and even things out where and when we can. We could help each other. That's what I want to talk to you about."

He's saying that, trying real hard to focus on the priorities, but you're having a hell of a time doing that because his home was suddenly not your home. When you got in the truck you'd been thinking you were taking him home. You were keeping him. He would move in, you'd be together. Things would feel right for once in a world where nothing really felt right no more.

"You like it there?" you ask, trying to figure out how to say it without scaring him off. You didn't want to move. Your family was in Alexandria and you weren't going to leave them again.

The way Jesus looks in your eyes, you know he's working out the meaning behind the question. He shrugs, "It's where I've been for a while. They're my people." He tilts his head, brings a hand to your cheek, "I'm gone a lot on runs, though. I'm one of their main runners. We could team up. Split the finds."

"We'll discuss that when we get home," Rick's voice broke in, reminding them that he was still there. "We ain't agreeing to anything until we talk with the others."

That was for your benefit. It wasn't great, either of their answers, but Jesus was willing to bend his life to fit in yours. You could bend a little to fit in his.


End file.
